Empress
by MadMar
Summary: A promise, long ago forgotten, will be kept. A prophecy will be fulfilled. And the de Chagny Empire will crumble. Futuristic, AU, and ExM. CANCELLED.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Phantom of the Opera_, which is owned by Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, and Susan Kay respectively. I credit them all for inspiring this work and am not making any sort of profit out of what I write.

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A/N: The word limit on the summary hardly gives me room to adequately explain my story, so I'm including a lengthier, more detailed summary in this prologue, hoping that it will encourage readers to continue with this story.

Firstly, this phic is a futuristic, science fiction story. It takes place in a world where an Empire extends over the civilized world and is ruled by Philippe de Chagny. This Philippe de Chagny, and all other "recognizable" characters, is not the exact same character introduced in Leroux's original tale. Rather, I choose to believe my characters are reincarnations of Leroux's characters in order to fulfill a prophecy/promise made by Erik that never came true: that he would make Meg Giry Empress in the year 1885.

This incarnation of Erik shares similarities to his predecessor. He is still deformed grotesquely; he is still a genius; he still will kill without a thought; and he still had an affair of sorts with Christine Daae, while her teacher. In this case, however, you will find that he was helping to train her to rule the Underground society of rebels against the Emperor. She still leaves him for Raoul, whom she loves and can better manipulate. My Christine is not as naïve as Leroux's, Webber's, or Kay's. She is a politically shrewd woman, with an iron will. Raoul, mean while, is love-struck and handsome. There is some depth to his character, although he is no where near as politically interested as his wife and is, frankly, a bit henpecked. Nadir (the Persian), is still Erik's best friend and keeper. I let him keep the title of "Daroga" because I can just see it as one of those quirky, high class words the Court uses to denote, as well as degrade, Nadir's position in society. Lastly, I come to Meg. Meg is still a dancer (though not a ballerina) and you will see her character change most, from an innocent, bitter little girl to a regal, mature woman. This change will take place over the course of many years, so this story will, obviously, be very long.

I beg you to stay with me in this experimental writing process, dear reader. It's a challenge to write and create, and I only hope that it will spark some attention and satisfy those with curious minds. Without further ado, I present the prologue of _Empress.

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_

The triumphant gleam in Christine Daae's blue eyes was evident throughout the church. She looked so beautiful, so perfect, as she should today. Her blonde ringlets flowed downward, meeting white, gossamer fabric at the exposed small of her back. Erik felt a burst of lustful desire surge through him, causing his expressive hands to tremble. Thoughts of crashing the wedding crossed Erik's malevolent mind as he sat much like a cat on its haunches, cloaked in shadow high above the ceremony. Suddenly, he felt a hand upon his wiry shoulder. He didn't need to turn his head to know who was beside him.

"Let her, Erik." The voice from behind him was tranquil, laced with fatigue, but commanding respect; a mid-range tenor, resonant, but unmusical and easy on the ears.

Erik scowled. "Let her, Nadir?" he hissed. "Let her betray the Revolution?"

Nadir shook his head and crouched beside his friend. "Let her _go_, Erik. She would never betray the Revolution."

"She already has," Erik wrenched his shoulder from Nadir's grasp and watched as the cleric made an elaborate sign over Christine and her groom, Grand Prince Raoul de Chagny. He heard Nadir exhale and knew that his friend was rubbing his forehead in a characteristic motion.

"I misspoke, Erik. She will not tell anyone of her past involvement with the Revolution or with you."

"She is ashamed of me, then?" Erik whispered; his voice borderline hysteric.

Nadir shook his head. "No. She is ashamed of her involvement with something potentially illegal."

Erik clicked his tongue. _Potentially illegal. _Even now, in Erik's darkest hour, Nadir's tongue in cheek humor was enough to bring a grim grin to his withered lips. He shook his head despondently and forced himself to watch the proceedings below.

"Why aren't you watching the ceremony, Daroga?"

"But I am," Nadir said, patting his friend on the back, "Who I choose to watch it with is of little consequence."

"You'd rather sit in the rafters with me than in the comfortable audience with your peers?"

Erik leered at Nadir, bleak amusement lighting up his ocher eyes. Today, he wore a mask. Not a false face, like he so often wore to mingle with everyday society; nor did he expose himself in his hideous glory; but donned a black velvet mask, trimmed with gold thread, likely an alloy of the precious metal. Nadir knew his friend well enough to know that Erik had eccentric, expensive, and occasionally flamboyant tastes.

"If I did, who would keep you from objecting to the happy couple's union?"

"Touché," Erik murmured, swiveling around to watch the ending of the ceremony.

If it were any other couple, the wedding celebration would have been beautiful, even at this distance. No expense was spared; golden torches adorned with sliver plating lined the walls, bouquets of _real _flowers marked each pew and _real_ petals were strewn about the red carpeting as though they were inexpensive and commonplace. Everything about this wedding was glorious… But Erik had spent the better part of five years training Christine Daae to be the Revolutionary Empress, promised to the world so long ago. The two were not only teacher and student, but had an illicit and lengthy affair. But Erik had not been enough for her; the Underground Kingdom he offered her, not enough. She wanted more, the light and luxury of the Emperor's Court. She social climbed her way into the Court—and into the Grand Prince's heart. Raoul de Chagny was to be the next Emperor and the open-faced youth had fallen for Christine, hard. Their love affair was like a slap to the face for Erik and Christine Daae betrayed him for someone better off in society than he. He couldn't blame her, exactly. Social pariahs such as Erik lived on the fringe of respectable society and all he could offer her was his soul. This boy could make her a _real _Empress; a legal, beautiful wife and bride of society. It was something Erik would hardly have succeeded in doing. The Empress he promised to make her would not have been loved by the people. Rather, she would be reviled by typical society and persecuted by the Court. For her personal interest, marrying Raoul de Chagny would be far more satisfying. And the youth was handsome. Better looking than unfortunate Erik could ever hope to be. There was a reason his mother cast him onto the streets to die twenty four years ago; a reason the Fighters took pity upon him. Erik was born a physical demon, horrifying to behold. That was why he wore the masks; to compensate for his ugliness. Thinking of his repulsiveness only embittered Erik and he coughed, hoping to brush his thoughts of inadequacy aside. Succeeding only marginally, he decided to change the subject to how to rectify his current shortcoming.

"What should we do now, Daroga?" Erik asked, looking to his friend, unable to watch Raoul and Christine kiss. "Who now?"

Nadir shrugged and situated himself as to be more comfortable upon the steel rafter. "We'll have to find someone new."

Erik pursed his lips. "You mean _you'll _have to find someone new. I don't trust my judgment anymore."

"If you can't trust yourself in this world, who can you trust?" Nadir asked, quirking an eyebrow, watching the couple below usher out of the church, their attendants close behind.

Erik shrugged, his eyes following the movement of the new husband and Nadir, briefly, worried his friend would swoop upon him in a rage.

"I trust you."

Surprised by this obvious display of confidence, Nadir blinked, his grass colored eyes widened. "Why?"

"Because you don't trust me," Erik said simply. From his breast pocket, Erik pulled an elaborate gold timepiece, likely an antique, for it was very unlike the digital watch upon Nadir's thin, dark wrist. Erik checked the time, studying the odd symbols upon the clock face before pocketing the watch and looking at Nadir again. "You better go, Daroga. Someone will be bound to look for you at the reception."

Before Nadir could say anything to that, Erik was gone, a flutter of his cloak signifying his departure. Slowly, the police chief stood and balanced to walk across the thin rafter and to the side he knew a Fighter's secret passageway to be on. He disappeared into the passage, leaving in favor of the feasting and dancing that lay in store. The church was now empty, except the priest, who had remained oblivious to the friends' presence high above the rest of the crowd. It was flabbergasting how oblivious society was to the presence of Fighters.


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Phantom of the Opera_, which is owned by Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, and Susan Kay respectively. I credit them all for inspiring this work and am not making any sort of profit out of what I write.

* * *

The court was decadent, crumbling. There was no other way to put it, no nicer way to say that Emperor Philippe had stopped caring about the common people or that when he died, the Empire would be in the hands of less capable men. Poverty was rampant among the masses, whilst men at court indulged in heady pleasures and their women enjoyed only the finest luxuries. It was with mingled disgust and intrigue that Nadir Khan noted these things. Nadir, a high-born himself, had as long as he could remember, been a Fighter, leading a double life as a spy and police chief. The Revolution, to his knowledge, had always existed and there was only his dim and distant childhood in which he had not been privy to such things. He joined twenty years ago, as a young man of nineteen and had since become an expert at fabricating a schmoozer's façade. In the Underground, he was a different man, a hardened, politically shrewd dissident. Today, he played the courtier as he was invited to attend a private show in the Garnier Pleasure House. He languidly sat upon a settee, beside an enthusiastic man whom he knew to be Étienne de Eugène, the Emperor's brother in law. He watched Étienne's enthusiasm as the dancers entered and coughed softly, indignant that the other man seemed to have let all thought of his recent marriage flee his mind. The dance master droned an introductory tale before the dancers would be allowed to move and Nadir hardly paid him mind.

"Marquis de Eugène," he said amiably. "You are well, I trust?"

It was a bold maneuver, but the other man was a simple, trusting man and he turned to smile at Nadir. His teeth were yellowed and Nadir was vaguely reminded of a whiskery muskrat upon beholding the Marquis.

"Oh, hello, Daroga," he said cheerily. "Things are going well."

Étienne de Eugène was a dark-haired middle-aged man, fat, with a rather large and beaky nose. Good looks were certainly not everything; the man was wealthy and for that reason, he was married off to the Emperor's oldest sister, Joelle. Joelle, a woman nearing thirty was on her fourth husband and it was common knowledge that each husband had passed mysteriously. Joelle vehemently insisted it was the work of the Fighters, but everyone suspected _she _did the deeds herself. Or, rather, ordered them to be carried her out. Blood on the royal hands would only bring about her family's demise, although in-court killings and murders occurred with some frequency. Backstabbing, literal or figurative, was second nature among noblemen.

Nadir leaned back into the soft pillows of the sofa and shut his eyes. The sultry sounds of music began to resound in the room and the dance master faded into obscurity. A spicy perfume wafted about the room, slightly smelling of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves. The scent was rather relaxing, but instead of falling asleep, Nadir opened his eyes to see the scantily clad entertainers writhing suggestively to the music, and for a moment, his breath caught in his chest. He exhaled and attempted to push primitive emotion aside, but succeeded only marginally. Averting his jade eyes, he regained his composure and quelled the instant burst of desire in favor for a more objective perspective. One dancer, a soloist, was prominent among dancers, not by her dress or beauty, but ability. In any other scenario, the soloist would be unattractive—perhaps even, dare Nadir say it—ugly. She had a plain, pinched face, limp black hair which, even though juxtaposed in the latest fashion, did nothing to enhance her girlish figure. But as she danced, she danced well and Nadir watched her intently. He knew he was not the only one, for the Marquis leaned towards him to whisper excitedly in his ear.

"That's Meg Giry, Daroga," he whispered. "Philippe insists she's a daughter of the First Revolution."

"Oh?" Nadir asked mildly, forcing back the tiny flutter of hope in his heart.

The Marquis nodded solemnly. "She was put in the dancer's ranks so that the court could keep an eye on her after her mother was… disposed of."

_Giry… _Nadir thought, trying to place a name. Suddenly, the image of a former contemporary surfaced from his miasmatic memory: a tall, thin woman who had been on Nadir's Fighter squad. _Antoinette…_

The memory of Antoinette Giry's execution was one Nadir tried very hard to put from his mind. She had been placed in the Torture Chamber and all the windows stood ajar so that bystanders could watch. Beside the Emperor sat a thin little girl, cowed by fear as she watched her mother die. Across the way, Nadir stood, then only a junior police officer, as he watched the woman he could not save squirm in agony, unable to scream or stop the injustice from proceeding. He fought back tears even now, as he thought upon the woman he might have loved once upon a time. Her death had been, perhaps, Nadir's darkest hour. She had given her heart to another man—to Jean Jules—and given him a child, only to have her lover turn her in as a dissenter, without so much as batting an eyelash. It was disgusting and Nadir could help but feel a stray tear behind his eyes. He blinked in rapid succession, clearing his head and acting as though it had been the incense irritating his tear ducts.

"Yes…" the Marquis continued. "I should say we've enjoyed watching Meg Giry… Don't you Daroga?"

"Mmmh…" Nadir murmured in agreement and his jade eyes flicked back to the girl.

The Marquis, taking this to be a sign that Nadir no longer wished to speak of watching the dancers, but actually enjoy them, chuckled to himself and sat back. When the song ended, the men clapped, some enthusiastically, others vapidly, already lethargic with giddy pleasure. The dancers bowed and when Meg Giry stood from her curtsy, Nadir caught her eyes. They were blacker than sin and sorrowful. And in that moment, he couldn't help but feel an outpouring of sympathy towards her—and a sense of hope, oddly. The daughter of Antoinette Giry was, perhaps, just who the Fighters needed. He smiled, somewhat self-satisfied.

"What are you thinking, Daroga?" the Marquis asked, his voice nothing above a whisper.

Nadir's grin widened as he carefully chose his words. "I'm thinking I would like to become better acquainted with Meg Giry."

The Marquis chortled heartily. "The little dancer, Daroga? That can be arranged. But you! It's just so _unlike_ you to desire one of them for… It's just not like you."

Nadir shrugged evasively. "Something about her has sparked my interest. What can I say?"

The Marquis, still chuckling genially, patted Nadir on the back. "No need for excuses, my dear man. Join me again for her next performance and I'll see if I can arrange for her to leave with you."

Surprised that his guise was so easily overlooked, Nadir felt a wave of gratitude towards the simpleton he spoke with. "You have no idea how much that would please me."

Snorting, the Marquis shook his head, his bushy mustache quivering as he did. "Au contraire, any man would understand."

Forcing a blush, Nadir shut his eyes. "Perhaps you are right… Thank you."

The older man waved a hand and stood. "It's no problem." And with that, he waddled from the room, leaving Nadir with some lusty men and their dancer 'friends'. He didn't need two seconds to get out of the room where he was unwanted. Nadir exited onto the crowded street outside the palace and scanned it for a familiar form. Suddenly, he felt a chilly hand around his throat.

"A word, Daroga?"

Nadir smiled slowly, broadly, and nodded curtly. "Alright."

"Not here," Erik snapped, "We're bound to be heard or seen."

Nadir nodded swiftly and felt Erik release his throat and grab his wrist tightly. Once Erik led Nadir to a dark alleyway, he let go and ushered him inside a nearby building—a dank bar to the left. The atmosphere was dim, and there were few people in it. Nadir raised an eyebrow. In contrast to the lavishly decorated, perfume laden pleasure house, this bar was dingy. The chairs were metal and gleamed dully in the low lighting. There was a sharp odor of garlic and Nadir felt like gagging.

"Well, Erik," he said disdainfully, looking around the questionable establishment, "This is quite the operation."

"Oh, do shut up, Nadir. It's the only place nearby run by The Fighters. We won't be heard or seen by the wrong people," Erik snapped irritably, taking a seat at the nearest table and violently gesturing for his companion to sit down as well.

Nadir sat, quirking an eyebrow as he did. "Is that…?"

He nodded to the bartender, who vaguely resembled a Squadron leader Nadir was acquainted with and Erik waved a dismissive hand. "Yes, yes. Don't you keep up with the news anymore?"

"I only get the news you give me, which by the way, I've not received in several weeks," Nadir said primly.

Erik grinned. "The more ignorant you remain, my dear Daroga, the less chance you will be discovered as a Fighter."

Nadir opened his mouth to protest, but shut it quickly and folded his arms in brooding anger. "I think I found what you're looking for…"

Erik laughed humorlessly. "In _there, _Daroga? In a Court Pleasure House? I think the luxury scented candles had something suspicious in them. You may want to file a complaint to the Management of that particular pleasure house…"

Nadir exhaled and tensed his shoulders. "Erik, hear me out. I'm serious. There was this dancer, Meg Giry, and she…"

"Are you sure she's _the _one?" Erik interrupted, his tone hushed. "A mere court dancer? Nadir, I think court life has gotten to your brain."

Nadir scowled. "Find someone better positioned, then. Find someone else to fulfill the 'Prophecy' as you call it, and I swear we can have her mind wiped."

"You'll give me access to your little toys, Daroga?" Erik asked, referring to the instruments of the prison, which Nadir oversaw.

Nadir frowned. "I never said you'd be the one to do it, Erik. So don't get your hopes up."

Erik sighed and leaned back in his seat. "Fair enough. But why Meg Giry?"

Nadir spread his hands out on the table. Nadir was frustrated, sick of Erik's incessant questions, after blatantly expressing trust in him. "Why _not_ Meg Giry? _Your_ choice nearly got us killed last time."

Erik sneered, making his hideous visage, if possible uglier. "Christine Daae betrayed me unexpectedly. I didn't think she would desert the Fighters for the Emperor's pathetic little brother."

"You didn't think," Nadir snapped. "The boy she betrayed you for is next in line for the Emperorship—Philippe is old and his wife has yet to give him a male heir. When he dies, Christine Daae will be Court Empress and eradicate the Fighters. We can't let Raoul get the throne. The boy is full of lofty ideals, but he hasn't the grit to pull them off. He'll be henpecked, no doubt. If you've _ever _seen him with his wife…"

Erik made a hissing noise and Nadir cringed. "Don't even talk about their marriage to me, Nadir Khan."

Nadir winced under Erik's harsh gaze. "You just don't want to hear about the man who won her from your control. But you _must _listen to news about court proceedings. Even the news including their's. Be reasonable, Erik."

"Reasonable?" Erik said hysterically. "While on the subject of reason, Nadir, tell me what reasoning went through your inferior mind when you chose Meg Giry to be Empress!"

Nadir sighed. "Do you know who her mother was?"

Erik shrugged. "She's a court dancer, Nadir. He mother could not have been anything better and if Meg seems content with her position, it's either ignorance or the thought that it is a "better" life than what her mother led. I'm guessing her mother couldn't have been anything higher than a court whore."

Nadir growled audibly and leaned forward as if to strike Erik. It took all the strength he could muster not to hit him. "Antoinette Giry was a Fighter of my squadron. She was captured by Philippe's personal guard and executed. Her daughter, then age six, watched her mother die and was then trained as a court dancer as an act of _mercy_."

Erik shut his eyes, seemingly self-satisfied. This caused Nadir to flush an odd hue of purple. Erik was the only one to know of his abiding, and secret, admiration for Antoinette Giry. Even Antoinette died without finding out that she was the object of Nadir's affections. It had been a secret, one-sided love affair. Unrequited and unbeknownst to anyone. Erik slowly smirked.

"That's why. You think because you couldn't save your precious Antoinette you can save her daughter."

Nadir laughed harshly. "You can see it in Meg's eyes, Erik. She remembers her mother's death, if nothing else, and the injustice of it. Give her a chance."

"I demand payment for my services," Erik said leaning back.

"Is being rid of the Chagny line not payment enough?" Nadir asked, now losing patience with his friend, tired of his nonchalance, as though they were bartering over something nominal, like a watch or yard of fabric, and not a girl's life and role in society.

Erik laughed. "You drive a hard bargain, Daroga. I accept."

Nadir snorted with something resembling laughter and extended a hand for a handshake. "When shall you begin?"

Erik shrugged. "I want to see her before I begin, make sure my decision is a wise one. I cannot believe I'm giving into your whims, Nadir."

"It's not a whim; it's a betterment of the community." Nadir said primly. He smiled forcedly, almost sarcastically as he spoke. Still Erik inclined his head in agreement.

"Indeed it is. Shall we drink a toast to this foolhardy plan of ours?"

Nadir's jade eyes sparked with interest; alcohol was a rare commodity, even in the court. How handsomely would they have to pay for it now, to celebrate their business deal?

"Wipe that grin off your face, Nadir. This is a Fighter's establishment; the barman owes me at least two drinks, if not more for saving his hide."

Chuckling, Nadir nodded and they made their way to the bar to order.


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Phantom of the Opera_, which is owned by Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, and Susan Kay respectively. I credit them all for inspiring this work and am not making any sort of profit out of what I write.

* * *

The Marquis de Eugène was a god-send, Nadir decided. He made his way to the Garnier Pleasure House only three days later, on personal invitation of the Marquis. He entered the Pleasure House and sat beside his odd political ally. Across the room, Nadir caught sight of a man, thin, severe looking. The man turned his head and his fathomless black eyes met Nadir. Inhaling sharply, Nadir leaned over to the Marquis.

"Is that Jean Jules, the Emperor's physician?" Nadir whispered.

"Yes," Étienne said loftily. "Here on invitation as well… Not mine, granted. Philippe thinks it'd be a good idea for the man to get _some_ entertainment. Working with comatose patients is hardly amusing, don't you think?"

Nadir pursed his lips and nodded stiffly, stealing another glance at his former adversary. Jules was pale, a deathly pallor seemed to overtake him in his middle-age and his hair had gone entirely silver. His cheekbones protruded and his nose seemed to have been broken since the last time Nadir had seen him. Secretly, he wished he could shake the perpetrator's hand, or have done the deed himself. Even after all this time, Nadir hated the doctor with a fury he usually associated with his hatred for the Emperor.

"Oh, do relax, Daroga!" Étienne said, slapping Nadir's back affably, jolting him from his reverie unceremoniously. "You're tense for a man who's about to…"

Nadir smiled weakly and the dance master entered as he had the time before. The speech varied from the last one, or it did, to Nadir's knowledge. Incense was dispersed in the room and the dancers emerged flawlessly from behind a puff of smoke. Meg Giry was dancing and briefly, Nadir couldn't help but bitterly wonder if Jean Jules recognized his nearly grown daughter as she danced, or if he, like other men in the establishment, was too busy lusting over her to notice that it was his own flesh and blood that he desired after betraying it in the cruelest manner imaginable. This dance was a blur, and Meg Giry seemed to be scanning the audience in some sort of mad frenzy. He looked to the Marquis questioningly.

"She knows she is to go with one of the men here tonight," he said airily, "Just not which one."

Nadir scowled briefly. "That's cruel."

The Marquis chuckled, and then added teasingly, "No, dear Daroga, telling her it was you she was to meet tonight would have been cruel."

Realizing it was only friendly banter, Nadir laughed slowly. Shaking his head as he did, turning to watch the dancers again. Meg's movements were lithe, quick and Nadir noted with some satisfaction that her arms and legs were sinewy. The physical training to become a Fighter would be easy for this girl. But the mental… Tonight, he would find out. The music died away slowly and he watched Meg balance elegantly upon the tips of her right toes—he left foot extended gracefully behind her in a straight line: a vintage move, evoking nostalgia among those in the audience who could remember what a ballet looked like. That had been before Nadir's time, but he could still appreciate how still, how poised, Meg was. Surely her feet ached, surely her toes bled. But she held still, accepting her applause graciously. This dance had been different, subtly so until the finale. Nadir clapped along with the other men and the dance master hastily exited the room, ushering the youngest of girls from the Pleasure House. Meg, however, lingered, scanning the room for the supposed lover she was to meet. Nadir rose stiffly, and walked towards her. He bowed slightly at the waist once standing before her.

"Good evening, Miss Giry," he said in a soft voice.

Meg jumped slightly—she had been looking the other way. She appraised the man before her, bent in polite supplication. Immediately, even without seeing his face, Meg blushed. Few men in the Court would have honored a mere dancer with such a formality. Without knowing him, Meg took an immediate liking to Nadir, who was now standing and smiling benignly at her. He was _old. _Or at least, in sixteen year Meg's eyes he was. When you are sixteen, thirty-nine seems like an eternity away and Meg noted the slight lines forming around Nadir's eyes and lips with intrigue and mild revulsion. But then, she counted her blessings that this man seemed kind, less bold, and handsomer than a few of the other men in the room. Already, a wrinkly man no less than sixty years of age was jovially flirting with a fifteen year old dancer to their left. Meg smiled and curtseyed.

"Good evening, sir."

Nadir smiled softly and took one of Meg's folded hands and raised her from her lowered position. "There is no need, miss, to bow or use formalities with me," he said quietly. "Come with me tonight, and if all goes well, you will know me by name."

Slightly fearful and intrigued, Meg nodded demurely, before stealing a glance at the fifteen year old and her sixty year old patron. It made her ill to think about them and immediately, she knew that going with Nadir Khan tonight may be the only way to escape such a fate—the elderly man was now petting the young teen's hair in a manner that would be reviled in any other place. Quickly, desperately, Meg took Nadir's hand and he led her back to his apartment, not saying another word. Once inside, Nadir locked the entrance and exit and led Meg to the back of the small flat. The flat had five rooms—two more than many middle-class apartments boasted. This fifth room was one Nadir let few see. He slept here some nights, but many a night, he only pretended to. He gestured for Meg to sit upon the expansive and luxuriant bed. The girl sat awkwardly, her breathing rapid, and she looked at Nadir expectantly. But he did not sit. He walked ponderously across the room.

"Your dance master told you what was expected of you?" he asked softly, leaning against his wardrobe.

Meg nodded shyly, slowly. Nadir smiled in response, pleased with her honesty. Many girls would feign naivety in order to prolong any unwanted attention.

"Good, good," he said, before becoming stern. "Forget every word of it."

Meg opened her mouth in protest. "Forget? But sir, what do you expect me to…?"

Nadir shook his head, silencing the objecting girl. "I expect you to do as _I _say and to keep whatever occurs, a secret between the two of us. Can you trust me?"

Meg blinked her black eyes wide with suspicion. Nadir knew those eyes. They were those of Jean Jules and to look at them was painful. So Nadir focused intently on Meg's forehead. Meg, meanwhile, could not tear her eyes away from Nadir, now frightened of what he would do and what he was capable of. He sighed softly, his chest rising and falling slowly.

"You resemble your mother very much, do you know that?" he whispered, taking a bold gamble in bring up Antoinette to the young woman. Yes, this girl lacked Antoinette's beauty, but Nadir, upon closer appraisal, could see similarities. Both women had the same, thin, coy lips; dusky skin and high cheekbones. In a matter of years, Meg Giry would fill out and be a near replica of Antoinette. The only vestiges of her father were her black eyes and sour expression. Still, when Meg's lips formed a small "o" and her dark brows knitted in surprise, Nadir knew he would need to elaborate. "I knew her when I was very young. Well. Not _very _young, but _younger_. She was an amazing woman."

"Sir," Meg whispered, still not knowing what to call this strange admirer she had acquired. "What are you telling me this?"

Nadir shrugged lithely, ignoring her. "Your mother would not have wanted you to be a mere Court entertainer. Do you remember much of her?"

Meg shook her head, this time with some urgency. Nadir was wading into dangerous waters, mentioning Antoinette to Meg. The young dancer's lower lip quivered slightly and Nadir noted it, nearly regretting his questioning. He bit his lip as Meg finally spoke. "Sir, why are you asking me this?"

The last, and most permanent memory—or nightmare—she had of a woman she thought of as "Mother" involved a deathly hot room, designed with twists and turns and mirrors and traps. The woman inside writhed in agony upon the floor, looking up at the world with soft, doleful brown eyes and the dream would always end with those brown eyes shutting forever. Meg would sometimes cry out in her sleep for want of her mother; a mother she never truly knew.

"Antoinette Giry," Nadir said, pausing to clear his throat, which had suddenly been rendered useless by emotion, "Was an amazing woman and a dear friend of mine. She devoted her life to a cause she believed devoutly in, even unto the point of death. She would have hated for her death to have enslaved her daughter…"

Meg leapt from the bed, her fingers fashioning into claws and she raked at Nadir, lashing out violently. "I am _not _a slave! I am a free woman! I do as I please…"

Nadir mildly raised an eyebrow. "Did you come here of your own free will?"

Meg, recognizing defeat, sank to the floor and looked up at Nadir. "What do you want from me?"

Nadir smiled and lowered himself to her level. When she looked up at him like that, he could see Antoinette. He could see her petite, wiry frame; her long, black hair pulled into a braid; her thin nostrils flaring in irritation and amusement with him. Gently, he cupped Meg's face in his hand.

"Antoinette Giry was a Fighter; a rebel against the oppressive de Chagny regime. I can see that her precociousness, her iron will, has been passed onto her daughter. I've watched you dance and I recall you as a child. I did not bring you to my apartments tonight to become my mistress. I brought you here tonight to offer you an option, a way to escape this cage the Empire has set for you."

Meg looked at him. She'd known her mother had been a Fighter. It was rampant gossip among the dancers and had cost Meg friends and opportunity as a child. She sniffed and dried her eyes, which were tearing up. She watched as Nadir stood up again.

"Join the Fighters, and We can offer you so much more than life as a Court dancer can. You have what, seven good years left as a dancer, if some Patron doesn't decide otherwise. As a Fighter, you'll have a lifetime of fulfillment and a community willing to provide for and protect you. We do demand some… services in response."

Meg quirked an eyebrow. "I don't understand. What service can I render?"

Nadir smiled gently. "The sacrifice I am about to ask you to make is a large one. The burden is heavy. But I feel that honesty—or as much honesty as I can afford—should be given to you. You have the right to know that the Fighters ask you to undergo rigorous training with a Master Fighter. Once your training is complete, you will be sent into the world with assignments to carry out acts you would never dream of now."

Meg laughed harshly. "What do you know of my dreams, sir?"

Nadir shrugged. "Enough to know you don't dream of killing or treason."

Meg laughed a second time, harsher than the last one. "How do you know?"

Nadir's eyes widened in fear. The last teenager he had seen with a lust for violence this strong had been Erik. And to have another deranged assassin was not something the Fighters necessarily wanted. "Who do you want to kill?"

Meg's black eyes flashed. "The man who killed my mother."

Nadir nodded solemnly. _She wants to kill the Emperor… _he thought dazedly. _Does she know that she wants to kill the Emperor?_

"So you will do it?" he asked. "Just like that, you will join the Revolution?"

Meg nodded emphatically, eagerly. Nadir smiled grimly. "You know that you cannot speak of this to anyone in Court."

Another nod. Meg seemed eager to learn and she scooted closer towards Nadir, the opaque fabric of her dress sliding across his lush Berber carpet.

"Tell me more."

"You will come to me under the guise of my lover weekly; I will escort you to your lessons, which will last most of the night. You will be returned to me in the early morning and then returned to the dancer's barracks after a few hours rest."

"How will you transport me?" Meg asked curiously.

Nadir smiled. "Before I show you, I want you to swear to me that you will not tell another soul of our meeting; not a person shall hear or see anything I tell or show you. Give me your word."

"You have my word."

That was the strongest oath Meg Giry could make. The dancers had nothing, owned nothing, but their word, which they prized above all other things. To break a promise was to lose one's dignity and humanity. Still as a precaution, Nadir gave the girl the typical caveat every new Fighter received.

"To break this promise, Meg Giry, is a death sentence. The Empire will have you killed if you are revealed as a Fighter, and if you reveal the Fighters, We will kill you."

Meg nodded. Then, hesitating, asked, "Do you kill _all_ deserters?"

"Eventually," Nadir said gravely. "Why?"

Meg shrugged. "A girl in the barracks told me Grand Princess Christine Daae was once a Fighter."

Uneasy, Nadir cast his eyes to the floor. "All deserters are killed eventually."

Meg sat in silence, understanding this to mean that if the Grand Princess _was _a deserter, she would soon be killed. But chances were that she never was a Fighter.

"When can we start?" Meg asked.

"Tonight, if you'd like. I know your Instructor is anxious to meet you."

Nadir walked back over to his wardrobe and pressed his thumb against the side of it. The doors swung open and the drawers disappeared, revealing a portal of sorts.

"Once your thumbprint and information is in our systems," Nadir said, ushering Meg in before him, "You will be able to enter and exit from any Fighter's portal. In the meantime, you must be accompanied by a Senior Officer."

"Like you, sir?" Meg asked, putting a foot through the threshold.

Nadir smiled. "Like me, yes. Now, let's hurry. Your Instructor is an impatient man and we shouldn't keep him waiting."

Nadir was excited. Meg had accepted the terms so willingly, so freely. It would be a pleasant shock to dole out to his old friend and Nadir was anxiously waiting to see Erik's reaction to his prompt delivery.

"Sir?" Meg asked, swiveling around to face him. "What do I call you?"

Nadir paused, and pursed his lips before slowly smiling. "My name is Nadir Khan, Miss Giry."


	4. Chapter 3

The portal to the Underground was more or less an elevator

The portal to the Underground was more or less an elevator. Meg had only been in an elevator perhaps twice in her life, and quickly, the dancer became queasy. She looked up at this stranger-turned-ally and wondered how he could stay so composed while she felt like the ground could slip from beneath her feet at any moment. Nadir smiled at her and suddenly, the downward movement stopped. They stepped out onto an unfamiliar street. Meg looked upon it in wonder and questioned how this world could function without the Empire's knowledge. Buildings were not uniform or monochromatic as the world above and arches and spires and other architectural oddities dotted the city-like landscape. Meg's thin lips formed a small "o" and Nadir smiled. He always took the Underground for granted—it was so part of his world. He took a few steps before realizing that an awestruck Meg was still drinking in the sight. Impatiently, Nadir watched the girl watch the world around them.

"Sir," she asked softly, "How come the Emperor doesn't know about this place?"

Nadir shrugged. "He knows it exists, just not where. We try to keep it that way."

Meg nodded and followed Nadir silently down twists and turns of alleys and streets. Her legs were strong, but considerably shorter than Nadir's so Meg found it hard to keep up. Suddenly, Nadir paused in front of an odd looking building.

"Your instructor's apartment," he said, indicating the door as he walked up the six steps leading to it. He rang the doorbell.

It took a full twenty seconds before the door was answered and Meg gasped in horror at the sight before her. A man—or what must have been a man at some point—stood on the threshold. His eyes were yellow and intense; his skin taut across misshapen cheekbones and distinctly gray in areas. Though he did not gasp, the look on his face was of equal shock. He turned his attention to Nadir and glared.

"Daroga, get in here this very instant," he said with cold harshness.

"The girl, Erik?"

"Bring her as well. We can hardly have her running about the Underground screaming and having hysterics." The thing called "Erik" snapped. Then, to Meg, he added, "Don't touch anything."

Meg nodded and followed Nadir inside. Nadir was dark skinned, but had considerably paled the moment Erik spoke to him. Still, he gave Meg a reassuring look as they entered the apartment. "Wait for us in the living room."

Meg nodded and she made her way into the room Nadir pointed to. Nadir, on the other hand, followed Erik into a cramped kitchen where a tense silence ensued as he and Erik stood on opposite sides of the center island, only two feet apart, staring at each other

"You were supposed to give me notice, Nadir," Erik hissed, gripping the sides of the island so that his knuckles whitened. "You know full well that in the privacy of my home I do not find it necessary to mask myself. Yet you bring this Meg Giry to my home, unannounced. What exactly was going through your mind? Anything?"

Nadir's nostrils flared slightly and he put his hands parallel to Erik's. "She's seen you early on. Did you hear a scream? Because I didn't. She's afraid but she handled it better than Chris--"

Nadir was cut short by an angry and throaty groan. Erik pivoted and turned to a nearby counter, not willing to look at Nadir as he mentioned her. Nadir sighed, throwing his hands up in the air.

"Meg was afraid, yes. But by being _honest _early on, she'll get to know you as who you are and not this enigmatic Master you acted as for Christine. I'm going to keep saying her name because you need to move on and be willing to train Meg. Meg is someone entirely different, so we're going to try a different approach."

"Who said there was a 'we'?" Erik snapped, turning back around.

Nadir gave a dubious laugh and shook his head. "Listen to yourself, Erik! You're completely missing the point. The point isn't me or you. The point is _Meg. _Give her a chance. Please, Erik. The Empire depends on it. The Fighters depend on it. Stop fighting your cause every step of the way."

Erik gave a quick and loud sigh as he began rummaging through a nearby drawer. From it, he retrieved a white full-face mask. Putting it on, he turned to face Nadir.

"I'll give her a chance, but I'll take no more surprises from you, Nadir Khan."

Bowing his head in acceptance, Nadir agreed to those terms knowing full well that any more "surprises" from him could terminate his service to the Fighters. He and Erik were both Squadron Commanders—equal in rank. But because Erik had no current squadron, he had only himself to look out for and less to lose. Nadir, on the other hand, had much more at stake. On that note, Erik stormed out of the kitchen and into the living room.

While the two men fought, Meg took to observing Erik's living room. She had yet to sit down but had, thus far seen all the antiques on display. Pocket watches in little glass boxes winked up at her. A cuckoo clock chimed on the wall. On the coffee table sat an odd looking box with a metallic creature atop it. She was studying that box when Erik returned.

"So I see you've taken an interest in my scorpion," he observed. He was masked now and his yellow eyes glinted observantly beneath the white cloth. "The grasshopper that goes with it is over there." He pointed to a similar box on another table. "What do you think of the scorpion?"

Meg looked at the creature with a more appraising eye. It had pincers or claws of some sort and its tail came to a nasty point. She shuddered.

"I don't like it," she said bluntly.

Erik chuckled and brought the box with the grasshopper upon it to Meg. "And the grasshopper?"

Though ugly, the grasshopper looked far less frightening than the scorpion; it had no pinchers, no malevolent tail. Meg smiled a little.

"It's better than the scorpion."

Erik smiled grimly; his thin, dry lips were visible just below the bottom of the mask. "But looks can be deceiving things. Beware of the grasshoppers of the world, Little Giry. That's the first lesson you should learn from me."

"Are you a grasshopper or a scorpion, sir?" Meg asked warily.

Erik gave a deep chuckle. Yes… She was smarter than he'd given her credit for, quick, too. "You shall know soon enough."

A/N: So, it's been a _very_ long time since I updated. And for this, I apologize profusely. I hope it's not too much of an imposition to ask for reviews, but I'll do it anyways. All feedback is much appreciated. Thank you so much for your patience!


	5. Chapter 4

Scorpion or grasshopper, Erik soon proved to be a good teacher

Scorpion or grasshopper, Erik soon proved to be a good teacher. Meg had thought by the name of the revolutionaries—The Fighters—that she would learn from Erik how to use a gun or how to do hand-to-hand combat. But from the living room, he did not lead her to an exercise room, but to a library. The expansive room boasted more books than Nadir's meager shelf. Hundreds, no, thousands of hardbound novels, volumes, and reference books lined three of the four walls. And the walls were _tall_. Meg and Erik were insignificant in comparison. Meg did not understand how the deceptively small looking building could open into such a vast space, but her black eyes became practically greedy at the sight of the luxurious room. In the center was a pillar and on all four sides of the pillar, were fireplaces. Around the fireplaces were luxurious armchairs and a sofa. It was more inviting than the opulence of the court.

"You like books, then?" Erik asked, coming up behind Meg and making her jump; she'd almost forgotten he was there. Immediately, she flushed and looked at her feet, which were turned out like most dancers'.

"Yes, sir, I like books." Her voice was shamed, sheepish, as though liking books was a criminal offense.

"You can read?" There was a surprised skepticism in Erik's voice, but he didn't sound all together displeased.

Even softer than before came Meg's reply, "Yes… A little."

"Good, this makes my job much easier, I'll tell you that."

Erik brushed past Meg and darted up a ladder which leaned firmly against the back wall of shelves. With a thrust, the ladder glided smoothly along the floor as Erik pursued the shelves, looking for something in particular.

"This library," he said, continuing his search and not looking away as he spoke, "Is even further underground than the apartments you entered. Did you notice how the floor sloped? We are in a cave, Little Giry. A cave beneath the Underground."

There was a smile in his voice, as though his own wit amused him. Meg smiled, too a little, but fear did not leave her eyes. A cave? Caves were the places where the truly frightening outlaws made their home. Guerillas hid in them; not the organized revolutionaries like the Fighters, but the angrier, more volatile, more dangerous ones who didn't care if you were of the Court or of the Fighters. They would shoot anyone on sight… They were the criminals which the other dancing tarts gossiped and fretted about, fearing kidnapping or a far worse fate. Perhaps sensing Meg's fear, which was quite palpable, or perhaps just understanding the impression caves had, Erik chuckled.

"Do try and relax. You are safe here. I want you to know that." It was quiet for a moment when Erik then made a triumphant exclamation and grabbed the nearest book.

In a flash, he was on the ground and in front of Meg. Meg's tentativeness was fading slightly and she did not hesitate when Erik told her to sit. He curled up in an armchair or at least would have, had he not been so bony. Any other human being could have easily "curled up" comfortably, but Erik's position was too angular for it to be considered "curling". The heavy, leather-bound volume sat stiffly on his lap at perfect equilibrium. Meg lowered herself gracefully onto the red couch, but quickly found herself enveloped by soft cushions.

"This book is a history volume. I take it you don't know much history."

It was not a question, but Meg protested, sitting up in the sofa and swiveling to face Erik. "I know as much history as anyone! I know…" 

"I stand corrected," Erik scoffed. "You know _no_ history. No one up there really does. The garbage they teach in schools about the Glorious Revolution—a farce. A lie. Well. A series of pretty lies tied around a less-than beautiful truth. It's all a package deal. This volume," he indicated the book "Is a far more accurate picture of history. It covers from the dawn of time until the so-called Modern Era. We live in what is known as the 'Glorious Era'. Again, a falsity. Scholars call it the Post-Modern Era. And I have a few books on _that._ But I want you to start with this."

He rose with more gracefulness than Meg expected of a non-dancer. He handed her the book without a trace of a smile or irony. The book had to be over a thousand pages long. Meg was shocked that he expected her to read all of that so soon. Voracious reader though she was, there simply wasn't enough time in a day or in a session for her to finish it all.

"Sir..."

"What?" A flicker of amusement ignited in Erik's rich tones.

"Where do I begin?"

"I usually find that the beginning is the best place to start when one is lost."

Meg sighed, frustrated. This was going to be an interesting relationship, to say the least. Meg was used to sarcasm employed against her by the dance master and row leaders and other dancing girls. But this sarcasm was only meant to throw her off, not scathe her. And it confused Meg further than if Erik had not answered at all.

"Sir?"

"What?" Fatigue entered that voice of his, accompanied still by a hint of humor.

"What if I don't finish?" 

"Well then, I guess you'll have to come back to finish it, won't you?"

"Sir?"

"What?" The sarcasm and amusement were gone; only mild irritation remained in Erik's musical voice.

"If the words are too difficult…"

"You ask too many questions, Little Giry. If you would use your own senses, you would see the dictionary on the table beside your sofa. If the words are too difficult, you must simply look them up. You did say you could read, didn't you?"

"Yes, but…"

"And Nadir did tell me you were intelligent?"

"Yes, but…"

"Then no more excuses. That's lesson number two for the evening. Make no excuses. Do as you are told; do as you feel you must, but do not give pathetic "buts" or "what ifs". Complaining never got anyone anywhere without action."

Meg bit her lip and turned to page one. There were no pictures on this page, or any of the next ten to follow it. Only a sea of uniformly sized black letters glared up at her. Page eleven, however, was emblazoned with a multicolored map—pale pinks, greens and purples, blues, oranges, and yellows winked cheerfully up at her, filling in oddly shaped things labeled as continents. That was the first word Meg did not understand. Continents, according to the dictionary Erik provided her with, were large land masses on tectonic plates. Tectonic plates, it turned out, were geological forces that Meg could not quite understand. But she decided that somehow, they were unimportant and she didn't want to sound stupid to Erik, whose expectations of her were too high for embarrassment. Her brow furrowed and her jaw set, Meg continued to read about the formation of Earth.


End file.
